


I Will Follow You Into The Dark (Songfic drabble)

by thelostrocketeer



Series: Sherlock Drabbles [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And stuff., Drabble, Gen, I write drabbles because I'm lazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 16:50:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelostrocketeer/pseuds/thelostrocketeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John follows Sherlock into the dark.</p><p>Songfic set to I Will Follow You Into The Dark by Death Cab For Cutie</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Follow You Into The Dark (Songfic drabble)

**Author's Note:**

> Listening to the song while reading this is very much encouraged. :)

_Love of mine some day you will die_

_But I’ll be close behind_

_I’ll follow you into the dark_

_No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white_

_Just our hands clasped so tight_

_Waiting for the hint of a spark_

_If Heaven and Hell decide_

_That they both are satisfied_

_Illuminate the NO’s on their vacancy signs_

_If there’s no one beside you_

_When your soul embarks_

_Then I’ll follow you into the dark_

_  
_

> Sherlock’s dead. He’s dead and gone and the blood stains the pavement outside Bart’s and John is alone. He’s alone but the flat holds the ghost of Sherlock, it hovers and looms over everything he does. John moves out, back into the lonely flat, cold, and clean, and empty, and silent. No odd smells coming from the kitchen, no slowly bubbling chemicals on the mantelpiece, no buffalo skull mounted on the wall. No Sherlock. 
> 
> John tells himself it will be easy. Just put the barrel into his mouth, and shoot. It’ll be fast, if the angle is just right. It’ll be right, it’ll be good, it’ll be final. It’ll bring Sherlock back. Or him to Sherlock, he’ll take either one. Easy, fast, simple, good.

_In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule_

_I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black_

_And I held my tongue as she told me_

_“Son fear is the heart of love”_

_So I never went back_

_If Heaven and Hell decide_

_That they both are satisfied_

_Illuminate the NO’s on their vacancy signs_

_If there’s no one beside you_

_When your soul embarks_

_Then I’ll follow you into the dark_

_  
_

> He bumps into Donovan one day, when he’s buying milk. That bitch. He nods politely, calmly, slowly, and holds it inside. No need to do something he’ll regret. But she talks and she goes on and on about _him,_ tactless, and mean, and malicious, and John feels like shooting her as well as himself. But he smiles, tight-lipped and cold, the smile of supressed anger, hidden fear, unknown melancholia. He turns away and bids her goodbye, polite, and calm, and quiet, and final.

 

_You and me have seen everything to see_

_From Bangkok to Calgary_

_And the soles of your shoes are all worn down_

_The time for sleep is now_

_It’s nothing to cry about_

_‘cause we’ll hold each other soon_

_In the blackest of rooms_

_If Heaven and Hell decide_

_That they both are satisfied_

_Illuminate the No’s on their vacancy signs_

_If there’s no one beside you_

_When your soul embarks_

_Then I’ll follow you into the dark_

 

> He dreams of Afghanistan, but it’s different. He dreams of bombs and gunshots and fire, and blood; watching tall, pale figures throw themselves off impossibly high sand dunes onto hard concrete-like sand. He dreams of Dartmoor and Baskerville, and black hounds, and naked women with yellow spray paint across their faces with bombs strapped on them. He dreams of poisonous little pills that trick you, and tall ugly monsters that strangle you with words; their Irish accents thick. 
> 
> And Sherlock, always Sherlock, dying, falling and bones cracking, and blood. Blood, blood, so much blood.
> 
> John always follows soon after.

 

_Then I'll follow you into the dark_

_  
_

> So he walks up to the old flat, with skulls, and dead things, and thumbs in the fridge, and Sherlock in the air. He sits in his old chair and closes his eyes and inhales, Sherlock and leather, and ammonia, and hexene from an experiment long gone wrong.
> 
> He puts the gun in his mouth, turns the safety off. Goodbye. Goodbye. I won’t be seeing you later.

 

_Then I’ll follow you into the dark_

 

> “John”.


End file.
